A Martyr's Greed
by Tansoku
Summary: With new and potentially dangerous Gaian technology, tension begins to escalate further between the Gaians and the Morganites - all the while the other factions begin to the corner the troublesome Sister Miriam Godwinson and finally move on the Believers.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:

Naturally, I do not have any ownership over Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri/Alien Crossfire Universe or any of its characters.

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With that settled, let me first say thank you for your curiosity in my writing. I hope you enjoy it. Please be sure to read and review. Reviews in particular will drive me to complete chapters longer, as it will tell me that there are individuals who are actually interested in my work.

My Alpha Centauri story takes place a few years after Planetfall, though before Alien Crossfire. There will be Alien Crossfire characters present in the story itself, although the Progenitors have yet to make their appearance.

Thanks again.  
- tansoku

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It was a cold and gloomy morning with an unpleasant moisture to the air that hinted to a downpour. Through the upper echelons of Gaia's High Garden, a cool breeze pushed through the solar conservatory. Flowers that normally were bright with vibrant colors seemed muted against the charcoal skies of Chiron.

Sitting beside her closest advisors, Lady Deirdre Skye beheld the scene before her. Guards adorned in the deep green body armor of the Gaian militia had surrounded her prisoner: an aging Morganite, adorned in nothing else but a shroud of dusty linens. She found the weather appropriate somehow, closing her eyes and inhaling the rich air of Chrion's surface. Even though Planetfall was years behind her, the combination of the planet's atmospheric conditions with the faint hypnotic presence of her gardens left Deirdre euphoric. She paused a moment to savor the fruits of her labor over the years before gently pushing the thoughts away, gripping the armrests of her chair.

The solar conservatory of Gaia's High Garden represented the apex of her research in hybrid xenobiology and botany. She had taken samples of flowers, trees, and herbs along with her from Earth, modifying their genetic structure to endure Chiron's unique environment. She had even engineered new species using Earth lifeforms as a template. The product had been these hybrids that surrounded her now. Beautiful snow white marble made up conservatory's floor, leading through fountains and menageries until arriving at where she sat now. A small stairway led up to an elevated platform, of which there were a series of unexpressed chairs, carved from darkened woods. Deirdre sat upon a chair slightly higher than the others, situated within the middle, while her advisors surrounded her in the others.

She did not know the name of the Morganite, nor did she wish to. Instead she merely listened as her advisors whispered his crimes within her ear. He had been a spy. Discovered skulking in the basements of the High Garden's sister colony, Song of Planet. An attempt to sabotage equipment or steal valuable research data. He had not been the first.

The winds sent goosebumps against her fair skin as she drummed a fingertip against the armrest of her chair. "What do you have to say for yourself, Morganite? I would caution you to think of your reply carefully before you speak," her tone was cool and icy. Months earlier she had been lenient, releasing discovered spies from her outskirts colonies with warnings never to return, but now they were growing closer to her. Into bases where potentially dangerous technology could fall into enemy hands.

The Morganite looked sad and tired. Waves of loose, flabby skin fell through the folds of her shroud. His silver-white hair had grown unkept and contrasted distastefully against his olive-coloured skin. "I was only following orders, Great Lady of The Trees. I did not want to come here."

She took subtle notice as his expression turned to horror as she shook her head at his response. "I do not believe you any longer, Morganite. We have been lenient to you and your people. We have been kind – releasing you unharmed back to your unsightly cities. We have even supplied you with food and purified water. I am more inclined to believe that Nwabudike has tempted you with some promise of materialistic fortunes. But they have led to your demise now," she turned her deep green eyes to her closest advisor, Goldman. Goldman himself was old, but his body had been nurtured by various anti-aging processes. A silver braid fell down his simple green robes, his face stern and unphased.

"Goldman, please proceed."

The Gaian pushed himself free of his chair, pulling a small silver case from the folds of his robes. His eye blue eyes focused on the Morganite, who began to squirm against the hold of the guards.

"My lady! Please! Have mercy! Anything you ask and it shall be yours!"

Inside, Deirdre felt a pang of hesitation, but she would not show weakness to her advisors. Instead she merely gazed at the Morganite with a look of cold contempt as Goldman pulled a gleaming syringe from the case he held in hand. Its contents as green as the pines that surrounded them. With grace uncharacteristic of his build, Goldman plunged it into the Morganite's neck, the serum disappearing from the syringe capsule.

The Morganite screamed and the guards released him. Before long, his screams began to muffle against an unseen force, his fat pudgy fingertips clawing hopelessly at his neck as if he were being strangled by a bolt of cloth. His olive-green skin warped with a sickly grey hue, his eyes pulsing with panic. His limbs began to swell and his joints began to crack. Deirdre could not help but glance to her side as Lindly, one of her most promising Talent Empaths, grimaced from the sight. Within minutes, the climax of the procedure had arrived as the Morganite's clammy grey-skin fell from his bones in clumps of gore. Following it came muscle, all while the Morganite still writhed in agony. When there was nothing left but bones surrounded by a pile of gore, Deirdre spoke.

"I want you to leave my forests and never return," she whispered. "Goldman, have his remains placed in the fertilizer chambers. Archer, I would like you to send a message to Morgan Industries. Instruct his secretaries that I wish to speak with him as soon as possible."

She pushed herself from her chair as her advisors dispersed. Only Goldman remained as his own aides began the grisly task of scooping the Morganite slop into sealed containers. The breeze quickened, dancing through her long merlot curls and flapping against the folds of her dress – a dark green hybrid silk spun from flora. She left the solar without a word to anyone, her anger simmering inside of her like boiling waters. This recent wrath of hers was uncharacteristic of her normal gentle calm and kind nature – of this she knew – but her patience wore thin with the Morganites.

She at least hoped it would not come to war.


	2. Chapter 2

Nwabudike Morgan felt as free as a bird. Miles high above the skies of the Chiron, gazing down through the clouds. Anyone else would have felt the image to be as real as real could be. Even the breeze through his short, densely clustered silver curls felt authentic. But he knew it was an illusion, and yet still he took pleasure in it. He was a powerful being. Young, strong, and masculine.

The shimmering peaks of Prokhor Zakharov's University, Miriam Godwinson's great cathedral of New Jerusalem, Deidre Skye's immense gardens, the brooding barracks of Corazon Santiago. He could see them all before the images finally climaxed backward into his own masterpiece: Morgan Industries. A dazzling metropolis of shapes and colors. Advertisements spewed across the air sporting fine Morganite products, flying cars transported individuals here and there, and citizens walked the streets with jewelled silks to dine at the finest restaurants. He was happy. His people were happy.

In the sky, Morgan stopped and tapped his communicator bracelet. The image shifted to that of his bedchamber, where he lay stark naked on his bed, the dazzling velvet sheets tossed to the ground. The door to his chambers chimed and he allowed himself to curse lightly and yell, "Fine, come in, come in."

He reached for his bath rob and swung it around his body, grimacing faintly at his reflection in the mirror of his wardrobes as the body that was moments ago young and strong be transformed back into reality. Instead his tubby frame pushed his bath robe and his fat, pudgy fingers groped at his communicator for his schedule of the day. His secretary Nyira had already come inside and taken her place at the small desk before the door of the chamber that was Nwabudike Morgan's bath, bedroom, and office. He paused a moment to curse him again. He would book some time at the Morgan Gymnasium later that day. "Nyira, sweetling,, what does the world have need of me to do today?"

Nyira was beautiful as a fox and was equally as sly. Her lips were always curled into the faintest smirk, laced with allure. Her voice was more a whisper, veiled with temptations. Morgan had not hired her merely for her secretarial abilities. She had come today in a neon pink blazer and shiny fitted tights, carrying in her hands a miniature communicator platform that was a similar, if not less compact model than Nwabudike's own. She pulled the device open and took her seat in her desk before making her report to him in the highly stylized manner that Morgan had come ever so familiar with over the years.

"Well, Mr. President, the current time is 9:46am. You are scheduled to dine with Talent Eddie Jones for breakfast at Morgan Chop House in Sector M1 at 10:15. From there, you've got another meeting discussing commerce regarding the new colony we've founded in the west: Morgan Studios. Afterwards--"

"Shut up and come to me, woman," He had called for her, following up and reviewing all she had said on his own wrist-mounted computer. He was bored already and would have much rather spent that time in the Morgan Gymnasium or perhaps taking a stroll through the Morgan Ball Park to watch hoverball. He pushed all these plans aside for now though as he watched Nyira come to him, slipping off her blazer to reveal a seductive lavender-hued slip that exposed her entire chest through its sheer veil. He extended a greedy hand and cupped her breast between his sausage-like fingers. "This, Nyira, is the life. Women. Lights. Entertainment. Who cares of numbers? Commerce? Big deals in business, no less, but right now I'm bored of that. I have other things in mind."

It was a dance that Nyira had known all to well as the much older man pushed her to the bed and slide in beside her. She felt the hanging jowls of Morgan's thighs ripple against her own soft lithe flesh as he lifted her atop himself and penetrated her. In the back of mind, she was disgusted, but perhaps she would be lucky and he would bless her with his seed. She was Nwabudike's eighth secretary and each that were successfully impregnated were sent to Morgan Spas in the northern mountains to spend the rest of their lives in feminine luxuries after Morgan's bastards were born. The children he would take to Morgan Labs, to be placed in stasis cells, and one would be handpicked once every four years to awaken. He had toyed with the idea, much to the displeasure of his marketing council, that he would select a son or even a daughter to be his heir as opposed to one of his advisors. He would spend a day or two with one of them and either put them through business school or send them to the Red Light Districts where other Morganites could glorify themselves with the knowledge of knowing they were fucking one of Nwabudike Morgan's own. He had yet to select an heir and really did not see the need, as the longevity treatments had been working just fine in keeping his life long and his appearance relatively young, save the gaining of weight. "Why spend money on a heir when I know for certain I am going to life forever!" had been his motto.

Halfway into their love-making, they were interrupted by a ringing chime from back Morgan's own wrist computer and Nyira's tablet. Sliding his member out of her, Nwabudike glanced at it and smirked. Nyira pulled herself away and glanced down at her computer tablet. "It seems we have a Priority One broadcast from the Gaian territories. It seems Lady Deirdre Skye wishes to speak with you."

Morgan laughed and curled an arm around Nyira's naked waist, slowly guiding her up and on to her desk. "Lady Skye can wait. Let's finish this first, my sweet!"

And so Nyira closed her eyes as the black blob that was Nwabudike Morgan shoved himself in and out of her flesh. She knew she could do better. A Talent, even. Perhaps a commoner. But no one quit a job offered to you by Nwabudike Morgan himself.

No one.

She let a hand linger across her desk as she gently tapped a lacquered fingertip across the communication menu on her tablet, ushering the Gaians a pre-recorded message explaining that the Director was busy at this time and would return their message as soon as possible.

Before long, the steamy act was over, signaled with a great final heave of Morgan's giant girth and an even greater sigh of relief from his plump lips. Nyira sagged into the velvet pillows, emulating pleasure as best she could, but in truth she wished nothing more than to escape the office as quickly as she could without stirring the great man's suspicions.

"Let us see what that witch has to say now then."

Retreating briefly to his marble-layered bathroom chamber to bath in a tub of warm soothing waters, Nwabudike adorned himself in his signature violet suit, sitting himself behind his great stone desk. Before entering in the Gaian communication protocols into his desktop plate, he stared up at Nyira, who still lingered within the folds of the velvet sheets atop his bed. He narrowed his eyes at her and gestured towards the door, "What are you still doing there? You will stain my sheets. Go home. Get out of here," he glared at her. With what little dignity she felt she had left, Nyira pulled her blazer over sweaty olive skin and departed promptly, barely suppressing a curse between her lips as she disappeared down the hallway.

Within minutes, the thorny rose symbolizing the Gaian people vanished, quickly replaced by the fair-skinned Lady Deirdre Skye. She sat at a desk herself, her hands folded curtly in front of her with a glass of wine at her side. A great landscape was her backdrop, a glass wall the only thing that stood between her back and the beautiful Gaian fields behind her.

"Nwabudike, allow me to thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to speak with me."

He smiled at her, folding his own arms over one another. "Why, my dear Deirdre, the most beautiful of us all, I only wish I could have spoken to a lovely lady such as yourself sooner. I fear I had some business to attend to."

"As you always do, Nwabudike. I'm afraid this is not a social call. I have a matter of great importance to discuss."

He was not one bit surprised and knew exactly what she spoke of before she said it. He had received the reports from his covert operatives. He had even spoken to a few, who more or less all had the same story. Each had successfully penetrated the Gaian Defense grids and managed to bury themselves into the Gaian society as drones, but before long each had also been discovered. In the beginning the Gaians had been generous and lenient to his ploys at espionage, but he had not received any reports from his latest wave of spies in some time. He put on a face of feigned severity, nodding at her. "Naturally, Lady. What is it that concerns you?"

Her expression seemed to shift slightly as she wrapped a pair of perfect porcelain fingertips around the wine glass, lifting it gracefully to her carmine lips as she sipped. Her expression was remorseful. Saddened. Not so firm and as businesslike as it had been moments before. "I am saddened, Nwabudike. I realize you and I think on opposite ends of the spectrum. Just as you love the lavish lives you have set before your Morganites, I have channeled my own passions into preserving this planet. We have discovered your spies, of this you no doubt already know, but I am afraid my patience is at an end. What is it you want from us that you put so much effort in your attempts to steal, Nwabudike?"

"Straight to the point, I like that," he allowed himself to grin. "We Morganites are not as fortunate as the Gaians. My people are beginning to tire of my metropolises. They want to explore and experience the nature Chiron has to offer. But naturally they don't want to wander off too far. We've heard you've developed a special chemical agent that causes the most delightful forests and fields to blossom in any kind of landscape. I propose you sell it to us so that I might create real, thriving forests in my lands as opposed to those poor artificial copies we've received from our neighbors at the University to the northeast."

She almost smiled. A sympathetic smile. The University was the center of scientific research on Chiron, headed by the suspicious and shady Doctor Prokhor Zakharov. A man of questionable ethics. He, like her, had experimented with Chiron's natural lifeforms, but his own experiences with botany could take him so far, allowing him to produce poor mass produced copies of oxygen-producing trees. Brittle, jagged bark. Leaves as sharp as glass, tinted a sickly yellow. The Morganites had found them unsightly and now he sought other routes through her. The only thing that made it tragic was that it had cost him six lives to try and steal it from her.

"I am sorry, Nwabudike, but that technology is classified. The basic formula is extremely tangible. In the wrong hands, you could be growing things out of your own people, much less your own gardens. Please inform your people that they are more than welcome to visit the Gaian colony – Dreams of Green – located only twenty two kilometers from your own western borders. If you like, I will have one of my Talents send a team to a base of your choice and plant a few small select species that may survive in your stagnant cities."

He did not like this.

"Deirdre, my sweet, I will offer you one hundred and twenty thousand energy credits if you are willing to overlook the unsightly classified stamp you have on these files. For your old friend Morgan, this shouldn't be a difficult choice for you."

Once again, she sipped the wine and sighed softly. One hundred and twenty thousand energy credits was a fortune and would easily pay for resources for all her colonies for the next two years. Even so, it was a risk she could not take. The technology was too valuable. The modified strain of the very chemical they spoke of now was one and the same with the one she had seen Goldman inject into the Morganite spy only hours before. She would not risk to see it unleashed on her own people. "I am sorry, but the answer is no."

He watched her carefully as a tiny flame began to grow inside the back of his throat. An anger he had to invest some effort to suppress. He smiled a smile of forced patience, twiddling his thumbs as he beheld her. "I see. A regrettable decision. One that I can promise you is a wrong decision in this world of business we live in. Ah well, your loss."

She inclined her head politely to him. "If that is all."

"It is."

Her image faded, replaced again by the Gaian rose, and Nwabudike Morgan cursed silently beneath his breath as he entered a new series of communication codes into his computer. An audio stream came to life, but no picture. "This is CEO Nwabudike Morgan of the Morganites. Get me Sinder Roze."


End file.
